


I love you much...it's not enough

by selenedaydreams



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, M/M, Minor Death Reference, Period-Typical Homophobia, Unhappy Ending, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 05:10:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5444453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selenedaydreams/pseuds/selenedaydreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James’s heart sinks. His heart sinks with a feeling of bitter disappointment he has never felt before and there’s a thunderous storm inside his chest that threatens to consume him whole while the world around him continues on quietly as if nothing has happened. </p><p>“You don’t see it, do you?” </p><p>“Excuse me?” Thomas glances at him over his shoulder in innocent confusion and that’s all the answer James needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I love you much...it's not enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plinys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/gifts).



> For the lovely plinys since she wanted heart-crushing soulmates AU and somehow this behemoth was born.
> 
> Title taken from Amy Winehouse's 'Back to Black' because it seemed appropriate.

For the first twenty years of his life the world is splattered in shades of black and white and grey. Apparently the monochromatic gradient is supposed to be dull but it never bothered him much. Only on the rare occasions when his mother would accidentally slip and describe an object by its color did he feel a slight twinge of disappointment.

His parents were lucky. They were each other’s soulmates and in the evening when his father would come home his mother would smile brightly each and every single time. Those were the moments that made James think that love stories are far more real than the fairytales within the ornate books stacked beside his bed.

In his early years, his mother would read to him before it was time to sleep, spinning wild and wonderful stories about princesses and castles and magic kingdoms and the always ever present theme that love conquers all. In those stories it did. Of course, his mother was biased on the matter, but James never held it against her. The fact that she could still find hope and beauty in the world after going through the unimaginable time and time again was a miracle.

(Sometimes, James would carry the fairytale book into the backyard and sit beside the graves of his late siblings and read to them for hours. His mother never objected.)

His father, on the other hand, never tired of telling the story about how he and his mother met. It’s a terrible cliche, touching hands at a winter’s ball and the world suddenly bursting into a beautiful mosaic of vivid colors. They both knew in an instant what had happened.

Red. His mother’s hair is red and his father’s eyes are an icy blue, and those were the first colors either of them ever saw. James always nods along quietly at that part of the story because his mother’s hair is a dark grey and his father’s eyes are a lighter shade of that. Nothing special. Nothing magical.  

They tell him that one day he will understand and he can only hope they’re right.

 

* * *

 

He knows that sometimes people don’t find their soulmate. It’s rare, but it happens.

(After all, his siblings were someone’s soulmate, weren’t they?)

He finds comfort in the fact that there is no age limit. Some people find their soulmates as children on the playground, while some find them with only years left to live. The waiting is unbearable at times but at least there’s hope in waiting, or so his mother claims.

 

* * *

 

Everyone finds their soulmate in college, his roommate Philip claimed.

He certainly did, a beautiful heiress that lived on a plantation nearby,  but every social and ball that James attended only forced him to solemnly return to his dorm room every night and wake up to the same dull shades of grey every morning.

He still held out hope though, it was difficult not to when he would read Philip’s love poems. It was easy enough then to imagine the moment when he would finally meet her, his soulmate, the woman he is destined to spend the rest of his life with.

Of course, college isn’t devoid of a healthy amount of gossip, and according to Philip the student across the hall from them is soulmates with another man. Platonic soulmates, Philip stresses, nothing more than platonic.

That conversation leaves him oddly unsettled and he vows to never bring it up again. Philip doesn’t either, much to no one’s surprise.

 

* * *

 

In the summer after his twentieth birthday, his cousin Francis invites him to his estate to spend the warmer months with him and his family. Despite his reluctance to accept the invitation, he eventually does, per his mother’s request and her insistence that the hotter climate would do him good.   

James doesn’t go out much. Doesn’t have very many friends either, neither at college nor home, which his parents find extremely odd considering his younger brothers are the talk of the town. Books are more interesting, he tells his mom, and it’s true, but he leaves out the part about how people don’t really seem to want to be friends with him.

It’s different with Francis though and James is actually glad that he accepted the invitation because people seem to like him there and for once he’s able to put his literary knowledge to good use. Catherine, his second cousin, is even more of a book lover than he is and they spend many late afternoons underneath a giant sycamore tree reading British poetry. The British poets are better, Catherine claims, and James has to agree because he’s never read anything quite a romantic as Shakespeare’s love sonnets (Philip’s poetry pales in comparison, not that he would ever tell him, of course.)

 

* * *

 

It happens on the 17th of July.

He finds out over breakfast that they are having guests tonight, or more specifically, one guest, a mister Thomas Jefferson. Francis talks him up, mentioning how he was one of the top students at the College of William and Mary (which James had declined in favor of New Jersey, not that he regrets). Despite the praise, Thomas seems like an average upper class gentleman with the same rich education ladened with philosophy and science that he had received, although when he mentions that he doesn’t see anything particularly special about him, Francis advises him to wait and see.

James heads Francis’s ominous advise with only mild protestation but he’s proven immediately wrong as soon as Thomas walks through the front door. He’s never quite understood fashion, or had much care for it, but Thomas is dressed head to toe in frivolities, starting with the massive and rather over the top cravat and ending with the unnecessarily long waistcoat. Thomas is a sight before he even opens his mouth.

He shakes hands with Francis but not Madison, although Thomas seems intrigued when they are introduced moments later. Thomas is a few inches taller, although his hair obscures the possibility of an accurate estimate and his resting face is a fraction of a smile short of mischievous.

“I’ve heard your name mentioned at William and Mary.” Thomas says. “People say you declined their acceptance in favor of attending the College of New Jersey.”

“The climate of New Jersey favors me better.” A convoluted way of not admitting that the reason he had declined the invitation was due to fear that the colder climate would cause him unnecessary illness, or so his mother had worried and he immediately obliged her concerns.

Thomas doesn’t seem to quite believe him but he doesn’t voice his speculations. “Then I would be very interested to know what the new college is teaching its students.”

The conversation continues over dinner with Thomas doing the majority of the talking, although no one seems to mind. Thomas is charming and charismatic and in the words of Catherine, incredibly good looking too, not that James had even considered that notion, although when Catherine voiced it, he had to agree. Aesthetically speaking, Thomas was a pure delight.

In light of Thomas’s earlier inquires, James indulges him with a breakdown of the curriculum, listing the men of science and philosophers he had become acquainted with in the past couple of years, prompting an almost half an hour long speech from Thomas on the genius of Sir Isaac Newton. It only took James a few minutes to realize that Thomas is completely enamored with him and that he might just be slightly enamored with Thomas, platonically speaking, of course.

When the topic of literature finally comes up, Thomas delivers another speech in regard to Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar and his unparalleled military prowess. James couldn’t help himself from voicing his own opinion, it being that Julius Caesar is hardly Shakespeare’s best play.

“Then may I ask which play you regard as Shakespeare’s finest work?” There’s an edge to Thomas’s voice and it’s that night that James realizes how much Thomas hates to be opposed.

“In regard to writing style and plot I am forced to name Hamlet, although Romeo and Juliet has quite possibly the greatest characterization and character relationship I have ever had the pleasure of reading.”

Thomas seems taken aback by that answer but composes himself quickly enough and smirks. “A hopeless romantic, I see.”

Transparency had always been one of James’s flaws, wearing your heart on your sleeves was a brave act against a cruel word, but in times like these it seemed to rally against him. He nods in response though because it’s true, there’s no use in denying it.

“Your soulmate must be overjoyed to have been blessed with someone like you.”

He can see Catherine out of the corner of his eye offering him a sad smile but he ignored her in favor of addressing the elephant in the room. “I have not found my soulmate yet.”

Thomas’s expression falters marginally. “Well, I’m sure they will be grateful to be paired with someone as hopeful as you.”

James offers him a polite smile and thank you because it’s the proper thing to do and thankfully they leave the subject of soulmates and move on to the foreign affairs with Britain, another topic Thomas seems to have a strong opinion about.

The rest of the dinner goes smoothly and James had almost forgotten about the uncomfortable topic of soulmates until Thomas brings it up again later that evening.

James is alone in the drawing room, rereading his favorite Shakespeare sonnets in the candle light when Thomas enters the room. Francis and Catherine had already retired for the night, of course not before Catherine had entertained them all by playing the grand piano in the corner of the room. She is quite talented, they all could see it. James had thought that Thomas had retired to bed as well but it seemed his assumption had been wrong.

“I meant no disrespect earlier over dinner.” It sounds an awful lot like an apology but James isn’t sure that Thomas knows the meaning of the word. “I simply wanted to commend you on your unique view of the world.”

By the time Thomas finishes speaking he has already crossed the room and taken the empty seat next to James on the floral sofa. He seems sincere enough so James nods politely in silent acceptance.

“I was not offended your insinuation.” Merely saddened, but certainly not offended, although he figures that sounds pathetic enough in his head.

“I have not found my soulmate either, if it’s any consolation.”

It’s not but James nods as if it is. “You will. I am certain of it.” He echoes his mother’s words to himself.

It looks as if Thomas wants to challenge him but he restrains himself, reaching out instead to put a solid hand on James’s shoulder in what is probably meant to be a comforting gesture. “You will as well.”

And that’s when it happens.

The world blooms into color exactly like his father had described it, exactly how all stories he had ever read had described it and yet so much more beautiful and exquisite, so much more vibrant and alive. The drawing room walls flow are painted in red and green, the carpet beneath him is a dark burgundy and when Thomas stands up, his waistcoat shines bright purple in the candlelight.

“I’m afraid I must retire for the evening.” Thomas speaks again, seemingly unfazed and already walking towards the door.

James’s heart sinks. His heart sinks with a feeling of bitter disappointment he has never felt before and there’s a thunderous storm inside his chest that threatens to consume him whole while the world around him continues on quietly as if nothing has happened.

“You don’t see it, do you?”

“Excuse me?” Thomas glances at him over his shoulder in innocent confusion and that’s all the answer James needs.

“Nothing.” _Everything_. Everything I can’t tell you. “Goodnight, Thomas.”

 

* * *

 

Life becomes a chess game after that.

He refuses to tell anyone about his revelation (sometimes he tries to lie to himself too) which by default means that he can never speak about the way he sees the world now.

It’s harder than he had imagined, and he finds himself almost slipping up more than a couple of times, though he’s careful to always correct himself. A life of vigilance seems far better than rejection.

Thomas stays longer than just the weekend, James found that out quickly enough when Francis mentioned in casual conversation that he would be spending the rest of the month with them. James feigned excitement to the news.

He still spends most afternoons with Catherine huddled underneath the sycamore tree with their books. Today she is engrossed in the Iliad while he is flipping through its counterpart, the Odyssey.

“Achilles and Patroclus must have been soulmates.” She says out of the blue, folding her arms over the book and pressing it against her chest.

James frowns. “How can you be certain?”

“How can I not be certain?” She responds immediately, almost as if offended by the notion that her declaration could be wrong. “They were clearly in love. Anyone can see it.”

“ _Catherine_.” It’s not that he doesn’t agree, from the very first time he had read the Iliad he had been certain that Achilles and Patroclus were nothing short of each other’s soulmates, but such arguments are dangerous if spoken out loud and heard by the wrong people.

“Please tell me you don’t believe that there is anything wrong with two men being each other’s soulmates?”

It would be tragically ironic if he did. “Sodomy is illegal.”

Catherine looks instantly disappointed and James wishes he could take back his words. But alas, he must maintain appearance. “I am not talking about something as trivial as physical affection. I’m talking about love, James. Pure, unadulterated love. The cosmic bond between two souls that is far stronger than anything else in this world.”

Maybe in an ideal world. “People talk, Catherine. They are poisoned by the petty notion that just because two men are soulmates then they must be engaging in immoral acts.”

She still looks upset as he nods in defeat. “I hope your soulmate is the most beautiful woman in this world, James. You deserve that.”

It takes everything he has to say thank you.

 

* * *

 

He tries to avoid Thomas as much as possible without appearing as if he’s avoiding him.

At dinner, he contributes to the conversation, disagreeing with Thomas again and again just like during his first night here. It’s a mistake he should have been able to foresee but doesn’t realize it until it’s far too late.

“I will be leaving for France in a couple of months.” Thomas mentions casually later that evening over tea.

Catherine is playing a peaceful melody on the piano and Francis is busy replying to a stack of piled up letters, leaving the two of them to their devices, much to James’s discomfort.

“To join the Enlightenment.” It’s not a question but Thomas nods in response anyway.

“I want you to come with me.”

Oh. “I am not a writer.”

“You don’t have to be.” In retrospect, he should have probably thought of a better excuse. “The Enlightenment needs thinkers, thinkers such as yourself, not just writers. Consider it, please.”

If James were to consider it he would probably do something incredibly stupid like accept. “Traveling is bad for my health.”

James doesn’t think he’s ever seen Thomas so utterly disappointed and it breaks his heart all over again. He’s used to it by now, though. It’s just a minor inconvenience and the subject is dropped quickly.

 

* * *

 

Thomas leaves three days later for his home in Monticello to prepare for his voyage to France. They embrace before Thomas climbs into his carriage, and James wants to kick himself for holding out hope that it would change anything.

It doesn’t. Of course, it doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

James extends his stay per both Catherine’s and Francis’s request, especially since his parents seems to have everything under control at home and encourage him to stay longer. If he’s honest, he accepts the offer because he isn’t sure how well he would be able to handle seeing his parents’ happiness.

Still, despite his own inner turmoil, life moves on.

He helps Francis pen letters, particularly the ones to high ranking officials, something Francis seems eternally grateful for. So much for not being a writer. As the weather grows colder, James and Catherine move their reading time inside and by the various fireplaces around the grand mansion.

If Catherine notices that he’s reading less and less romance novels, she doesn’t mention it. Of course, even the books of science aren’t able to distract him, they’re too much of a bitter reminder, as well.

Thomas writes him letters. Thomas writes him a lot of letter but the one James will never be able to forget is one that comes only a few months after Thomas’s departure.

I have found my soulmate, he writes. _I have found my soulmate._

Martha Wayles, being her namesake. Thomas goes on for two whole pages describing what simply touching her hand had done. James finds himself skimming the paragraphs, he already knows far too well how it works.

She’s everything he could have ever hoped for, he says, beautiful, smart, and kind.

(Everything he’s not.)

He ends the letter on a hopeful note, hopeful on his part, that is, wishing James luck once again in finding his own soulmate, reminding him that these things happen at unexpected times with unexpected people.

Yes, he’s aware. He’s very painfully aware which is probably why he crumples the letter and throws it into the fireplace, as if it would change anything. As if.

It takes him two weeks to summon the strength to respond back. Even when he does, it’s a short letter filled with distant courtesy and generic congratulations. He sends the letter out of politeness, more than anything.  

 

* * *

 

Things pick up from there.

The revolution ends just as quickly as it begins, although James doesn’t quite feel different now that he lives in a free nation. Everyone around him seems to be happier, bolder in a strange way, and before he knows it he’s pulled into the political abyss. He doesn’t mind though, a distraction is a distraction and while forging the Bill of Rights is a tough and exhausting job, it keeps his mind off things, off Thomas, off the Declaration of Independence which he had read and reread an embarrassing amount of times.  

Thomas still writes to him, sometimes he even sends unpublished manuscripts and it feels far too intimate for comfort. He doesn’t throw them away, no, late at night when sleep won’t come and weakness takes over, he pulls them out and carefully reads every line in an effort to find out what Thomas found of value in them.

(Sometimes he reread his letters too.)

The majority of Thomas’s letters are pages long, carefully detailed and sealed perfectly, while his own are far shorter than definitely not as neat. Thomas doesn’t seem to mind though, and sometimes James wishes he did.

 

* * *

 

It’s not as if he hadn’t tried to move on. It’s not as if he hadn’t tried to find someone else.

A lot of people marry someone that isn’t their soulmate, it’s not uncommon, he tries to find comfort in that. He had tried courting his friend Philip’s sister, Mary, he really had tried, but despite all his best efforts she rejects him without a second thought. Deep down, a part of his had wished she would say no.

In a moment of weakness, he writes to Thomas about it, pouring out his heart in the longest letter he had ever written him, which in retrospect, was a complete mistake because the letter he receives in response will now forever be stained with tear marks.

She does not realize the terrible mistake she is making, he writes, if you were my soulmate I would never let you go.

Suddenly, Mary’s rejection barely stung.

He almost burns that letter too, but a selfish part of himself urged him to not only keep it, but even worse, tuck into the inside pocket of his waistcoat so that he would always carry it with him. It lays just above his heart and sometimes it’s enough.

 

* * *

 

He shouldn’t have put the letter in his breast pocket. He really shouldn’t have put the letter in his pocket because one night while he’s at Hamilton’s estate collaborating with him on the Federalist Papers it falls out and lands on the floor when he carelessly tosses his jacket over a chair. He’s too consumed in the paragraph he’s currently writing to notice Alexander picking it up and unfolding it.

“It is considered rude to read correspondence not addressed to yourself.” Ripping it out of his hand felt far too crass.

Alexander looks up from the letter with an unreadable expression. “If you carry this letter with you then it must mean something.”

“It’s not important. Please return it to my jacket and let us continue with the business at hand.”

Alexander doesn’t seem inclined to do either of those things. “Is he your soulmate?”

“Alexander-”

“He is, isn’t he?” Alexander continues as if no words of protest had been uttered. “That’s why you carry his letter over your heart. You love him.”

“That is an improper accusation.” Of course, that’s not a no.

Alexander laughs, a bitter, dry laugh that leaves James feeling as if he’s missing crucial information, although there’s something in the way Alexander is looking at him that makes him wonder if he really wants to know.

“Love cannot be helped. There are forces in this world acting upon our lives that we cannot control.” His fingers absentmindedly run over the delicate silver chain around his neck. “The so called moral code of his world pales in comparison to the force drawing two souls together.”

“You speak as if you’ve experience in this matter.” James hopes to God that he is wrong.

Alexander offers him a sad smile and that is all James needs. “I loved a man once too, and he loved me as well.”

James isn’t sure what the more shocking part is: the fact that Eliza is not Alexander's soulmate, or the fact that Alexander had been involved in a relationship with another man. Regardless, both have their own measure of sadness.

“What happened to him?”

“He died for me.” Alexander is now gripping the chain around his neck. “The world grew dark one evening and nothing has ever been the same.”

Oh. If James had expected anything, it certainly had not been that, and he almost offers a sincere apology before Alexander steps closer and lays a hand on his arm. “May I give you some advice?”

“If you would like.” He knows what is coming.

“Tell him.”

“ _I cannot_.” I’ll lose him.

“Mr. Madison, you don’t want to wake up one morning to a colorless world and eternally regret that you never said anything, that your soulmate died without knowing that there was someone in this world that always cared for them.”

“I cannot.”

“I am not asking you to confess your love to him.” Alexander sounds almost angry. “I’m only asking that you tell him you two are soulmates. He deserves to know.”

What Thomas deserves is a better soulmate, he wants to say, but instead he nods and promises Alexander he’ll think about it.

 

* * *

 

He slips up one night. He slips up and he hates himself instantly.

The brown one, he says. _The brown one_.

They are currently inside Thomas’s enormous closet, per his request that James help him in picking out his outfit for the dinner they have to attend at George Washington’s house. James had tried to decline the invitation, citing his colorless vision as a clear impairment, although Thomas was relentless and eventually James had no choice but to agree.

An hour and seven waistcoats later is when he slips and Thomas doesn’t miss it. He quickly spins around, a wide smile on his face that James already despises.

“What did you just say?”

“Thomas-”

“What did you just say?” Thomas repeats with even more excitement as he takes a few steps closer to him.

“The brown one.” There’s no use in denying it now. “I said, the brown one.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you met your soulmate?” Thomas’s hands grip his shoulders tightly. “Who is she?”

She. Yes, well, that’s exactly the problem.

“It doesn’t matter.” Except that it does, which is exactly why he won’t say anything.

“Doesn’t matter?” Thomas seems to find the very notion inconceivable. “Of course, it matters, now tell me who she is.”

“No.” It takes all his pent up courage to say that word and Thomas instantly frowns.

“No?”

“No.” James swallows before continuing. “No, I can’t tell you.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“Thomas, please.” Both.

“Please what?” He’s angry now, although James knew this was inevitable. “When I found my soulmate you were the first person I told.”

That fact is probably meant to make him feel better but it only disappoints him further.

“James, you’re the closest friend I’ve got.” Of course, anger was better than betrayal. “I thought you felt the same.”

I did. I do. I always will.

“I’m sorry, Thomas.” Sorry I even fail you as your best friend. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

 

* * *

 

Life is awkward after that.

Cabinet meetings are uncomfortable and James is certain that everyone notices the tension between them. How could you not?

No one says anything outright, although the glances from Burr and Washington are enough to force them to at least act civil in public. The fact that their political views mesh perfectly together is a great help, but it doesn’t fix everything. Especially the fact that their own faction is more divided than the north and south. It’s embarrassing, honestly.

James does his best to bridge the distance between them but the afterglow of betrayal still linger and Thomas isn’t so eager to meet him halfway, not that James blames him. He deserves the cold treatment.

Alexander corners him after a meeting one evening and honestly, James had been waiting for it.

“What did you say to him?”

James glances around before responding, making sure that no one is eavesdropping. The walls have ears, Thomas told him once at the beginning. “I accidentally revealed that I see colors and when he asked about the identity of my soulmate I told him that I could not tell him.”

Alexander looks as if he wants to slap him. “You, my friend, are one of the biggest idiots I have ever met.”

“He told me that I am the closest friend he has.”

Alexander recoils immediately. “He said that? Those words exactly?”

James frowns. “Yes. Those words exactly.”

“You must tell him.”

“Alexander, I have already told you that I can’t.”

“James, you must. Trust me.”

“Why?”

Alexander pauses, almost as if to summon up the courage to force the words out. “Because John said those exact same words to me once.”

 

* * *

 

It’s midnight and he can’t take it anymore.

It’s midnight and he’s rushing to Thomas’s house because he truly cannot take it anymore. Some days he isn’t sure what the worst part is: the fact that he’s been in love with his best friend for years and hasn’t told him or the fact that by trying to protect him from the truth he had inadvertently almost ruined their friendship?

Thomas is alone, or so he assumes, he remembers when Martha died that she had made Thomas promise not to marry again, something Thomas had surprisingly obliged. He had loved Martha, that much had been obvious, she really was everything that Thomas had described her to be all those years ago.

James had taken no pleasure in her death, any sadness brought upon Thomas was sadness also brought upon himself, and even though Thomas never mentioned it, he knew that he mourned the loss of color from his world.

This had all happened before their fall out, before James had slipped up and ruined everything. Thomas had the fairytale life: a dotting soulmate as his wife and a best friend that would be there for him through it all, if only the universe had not to been so cruel as to rip it all away from him.

James knocks frantically on his door and within moments he hears rushed shuffling down the marble stairs before the door opens, leaving James face to face with a confused and sleep deprived Thomas.

“James?” He instantly sobers up when he realizes who has caused the disturbance. “Has something happened?”

“Can we confer?” Thomas looks skeptical. “Please.”

Without further questioning he opens the door wide enough for James to slip inside before shutting it once again. If they are to confer, it’s probably best to do it in private. “Should I be worried?”

“No.” Yes.

“Is this in regard some political news I have yet to hear about?” Thomas’s impatience, while endearing at time, makes the current conversation even more nerve-wrecking.

It’s too late to back down now. “No, nothing of the sort.”

“Then what, James.” Thomas pulls his robe closer and crosses his arms over his chest as he steps in front of him. “You are worrying me.”

Have I not always worried you? James wants to ask, but keeps the thought to himself. “Is there anything I could ever do to cause you to withdraw your friendship from my life?”

Thomas looks almost frightened at the very thought of that. “No.” He answers fiercely. “No, there is nothing you could never do that would compel me to do such a thing. Why do you ask?”

His heart is pounding in his chest and he’s certain that he if he dares to move Thomas will be able to see that he is shaking. It’s been years. A decade. A decade and more of carrying this secret and James is tired of it. He’s so unbelievably tired of it. It’s only three words.

“You’re my soulmate.”

Thomas stares at him. Thomas just stares at him and even though it feels as if a heavy weight has been lifted off his shoulders he now feels like he’s drowning, like his lungs are painfully filling with water and he cannot escape.

“What?” A mixture of emotions flash over his face: confusion laced with disbelief and what James hopes isn’t more betrayal. “Say it again.”

“Thomas-” It took him over a decade to say it once.

“Say it again.” Thomas demands.

“You are my soulmate.”

The silence that follows is deafening and everything that he had feared. It would be so much easier if Thomas was mad. Anger he could deal with, this silence, not so much.

“You’ve known since the first night we met.” It’s not a question but rather an accusation. “You have known for years and you never said anything. Why?”

How can such a simple question have such a complicated answer? Why? Why does Alexander Hamilton always wear the silver chair around his neck? Why does George Washington look at his wife as if she hung the moon?

“Because I couldn’t tell you.”

“Were you ashamed of me?”

“How can you ask such a question?” James answers back immediately with unusual fierceness.

“Because you hid something so fundamentally important from me for years. For years, James. For years you never said anything even when I directly asked you so what am I supposed to believe?”

Is ashamed worse than in love with? James still isn’t sure because in the end, don’t they both lead to the same result: Thomas leaving him.

“I couldn’t risk losing you.”

“Do you honestly believe that you would lose me by telling me that I am your soulmate?” Thomas says those words as if they are the most ridiculous notion in the world and it makes James want to laugh because no scenario had ever frightened him more than the one just described.

“Yes.”

“I asked you to come to France with me.” Thomas spits back with unparalleled bitterness. “I have wanted you by my side from the very moment our paths crossed so forgive me for not understanding how this would do anything but strengthen our relationship.”

James feels as if he’s precariously balanced on a sharp cliff and any attempts of survival are hopelessly futile. This must have been how Ariel felt, he thinks, when she decided to trade her life away allowed the ocean to consume her. Except, he isn’t as selfless as she had been.

“It’s unlawful.”

Thomas frowns, his features softening in that moment. “I don’t understand.”

“My feelings for you are unlawful.”

One. Two. Three.

Three seconds of agonizing silence and waiting, dangling from that cliff as if there is any reason to even continue holding on. He wants to drown in the ocean. It would be so much easier to drown in the ocean.

“James…” Thomas almost reaches out to touch him but pulls back almost immediately. “I’m sorry.”

Oh, but allowing the ocean to consume him is so blissfully peaceful.

“I should go.”

He turns around to leave and almost makes it outside until warm fingers wrap around his wrist, stopping him from opening the door. To call this cruel would be like calling the death of Patroclus a minor casualty of war. No, it’s not a minor casualty, it’s the agonizing shattering of an already battered heart.

“I can try.” The grip around his wrist tightens almost desperately. “I want to try.”

“You want to try to love me?”

“I already love you.” Thomas responds fiercely, denouncing the very notion that he feels anything less as absurd. It’s not absurd though.

“Thomas, please.” Please stop torturing me.

“My world is already colorless. If you were to leave me, it would be plunged into a terrible darkness that would consume me.”

James wants to believe him. Every ounce of him wants to believe him. It would be so easy to give it. After all, has he not been pretending his whole life?

“We could be good.” Thomas leans in to whisper, their lips only breaths way and Thomas’s fingers still wrapped tightly around his wrist. “This could be good.”

James almost leans in. Almost kisses him.

 _Almost_.

“I can’t.” His voice strains as he forces himself to pull back, putting some much needed distance between them.

“Why not?”

“Because I love you far too much allow you to ruin yourself for me.” Because I love myself enough not to lie to myself every morning and night.

Thomas looks as if he wants to protest, wants to fight, fight with him like he fights with Hamilton every single day, fight with him like the first night they met, fight like winning is the only acceptable outcome, but even Thomas is smart enough to know when a battle is already lost.

“You are a good man, James.” Thomas steps closer, and before James can pull away again, there are lips pressed against his cheek in a soft and lingering kiss. “You deserved a soulmate you could be happy with.”

James’s lips curl into a bittersweet smile. Maybe Thomas is right, deep down he knows he’s right, maybe he did deserve someone he could be happy with, someone he could marry, someone he could grow old with. But he had become accustomed to the ache inside his chest and in a twisted way sometime along the way it had morphed into happiness.

“If I had the power to choose I would still choose you.”

Across a thousand lifetimes I would still choose you.

**Author's Note:**

> • Catherine is my own creation (since I couldn't find the names of any other one's of Madison's cousins), but Francis is real, as if Philip.  
> • The silver chain Alexander wears is from John.
> 
> Find me @mallcolmducasse on tumblr.


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